


Tumblr Drabbles And Headcanons

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Various Sex Acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter is an unrelated musing on John and Sherlock. Some are AU, all are fairly fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Said

One evening while Sherlock is riding John, he pauses to ask, "Do you love me?" He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but John's never _said_. (Although, to be fair, neither has he.) John's face just _crumples_ , and tells him, "I love you so fucking much it hurts, Sherlock. I love you."

 

A while later, John gets  his revenge by gasping out his proposal while Sherlock rims him.

Sherlock bites his bumcheek.


	2. One Last Thing

John’s in a bad mood and Sherlock _hates_ it. It’s his work’s fault, obviously; he bites his tongue against repeating his suggestion that John quit and devote himself full-time to assisting Sherlock. He tries not to hover around John.

He hovers, offering tea, calmly assuring the tea is not drugged, putting the telly on, changing the channel to something John prefers, calling to order dinner.

John knows what he is doing: the shape of his mouth says _annoyed_ but his eyes say _thankful_ and his whole body is melting towards _fond_. When they sit toe-to-toe to eat, Sherlock tries one last thing. It’s been recommended to him numerous times, but he doubts its usefulness. Still. Nothing to lose.

"John?"

"Mm."

"What happened today? Would you like to talk about it?"

John’s eyebrows and hair wrinkle towards each other.

"You mean you don’t know?"

_Most of it._

"Some of it," he says carefully. "If you want to - get it off your chest, I’m listening."

John sighs heavily, but his toes when they stroke and rest against the side of Sherlock’s foot are light.


	3. M*A*S*H

Little John Watson loved watching M*A*S*H with Harry (she admired Margaret but hung out for Kellye) just  _idolising_ Col. Potter. John was short, even in primary, and Sherman? Short bloke, hell of a temper kept tightly reined, heart of gold, Army doctor,  _in charge._

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock watched reruns when he was in highschool and uni. He knew that of all of them, he’s more like Charles than anything, but he had more than a little bit of a crush on BJ.


	4. Belly Rub

Catlock loves when John scritches his hair or rubs his back or belly. He grabs John’s hands and puts it right back where he wants it if John thinks he’s finished before Sherlock is satisfied.  
(Sherlock is never satisfied until he’s got John rubbing lower, lower, low-)  
“Right, so when you said ‘belly rub’, you meant ‘hand job’?” John asks.  
Sherlock just twists and arches his back a little more.


	5. Nymphjohn and Fawnlock

When summer comes, NymphJohn is so _so_ vital and strong but all Fawnlock wants to do for the middle half of the day is dig a shallow hole in a shady spot and lie in it. In the afternoon, when a fresh breeze starts coming in, John lies down right on top of them and teases Fawnlock gently for being so lethargic. They walk through the evening and sleep under the sky. John's up with the sun, _early_ early, but he brings Fawnlock to bliss with his mouth and hands before going to rejoice in his forest.


	6. Snuggie

Sherlock sticks a bare leg out from his snuggie when he overheats a little. He’s lying on the couch, dying of the plague and also pneumonia.   
“You've got a headache and the hint of a sniffle,” John snipes, and wonders if he’s wearing anything under that damn _arm blanket_. Sherlock “lets” (insists) John also sit on the couch, and then says 'to himself' (repeatedly) how everything aches and he just can’t stop his legs from jumping, John, would you mind?  
John gives Sherlock a leg rub.

Sherlock doesn't do anything as vulgar as moaning in bliss at the massage, but he does go very still and pliant and when John looks at his face it’s not _decent_ , what comes to mind.

Still.

He finds himself burying his hands further under the blanket to knead gently around knees and further, working carefully on thighs. It’s _intimate_ , John acknowledges, but it doesn't have to be A Thing.

Sherlock’s not into anything like that, and that’s _fine_.

(Sherlock pulls an arm into the blanket to try and covertly hide his erection)

Of course John notices the retracting arm immediately, but it takes him damnably long to deduce what it means. Then, as Sherlock wants him to keep going (doesn't he? He would've moved or said something otherwise) he continues, inching slightly higher. John’s a doctor and a crack shot, but he still takes his time lining up his move. He swallows. John’s hand darts out, further up Sherlock’s body, touching lightly on the back of his wrist. When they lock eyes, the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. No turning back.  
"You don’t need to… I’d rather if you didn't hide anything from me."

Sherlock (when he unfreezes) is a flurry of motion, wearing the snuggie like a dressing gown as he straddles John’s lap.


	7. Doll!Sherlock

Sherlock loves John's hand, that he made for Sherlock. He loves John's _hands_ , too; they keep him in one piece. Unfortunately, John's hands don't touch nearly enough of his cloth, nor nearly often enough. John's hand, though, is _his_ hand, and when he is alone, he likes to touch himself, imagining it is John.


	8. Nymphjohn and Fawnlock (Again)

Fawnlock "borrows" a pretty dress and wrestles it on to show off for Nymphjohn after seeing a human man being very appreciative of it on his lover. Nymphjohn has never really seen the point of clothes, but this _is_ rather fetching on Fawnlock.

At first John says they have to return it, but Fawnlock spins around again and the skirt gets hiked up on their little tail. John goes to pull it back down properly but he gets distracted smoothing his hands over the fabric on Fawnlock’s body and it’s _spring_ , okay, John doesn’t usually get turned on that quickly (he doesn’t even know if he’s telling himself that as an excuse or as a plea for more) but the long and short of it is they have to wash the dress before they can return it. Fawnlock refuses to take it off to wash it, and walks into the river wearing it. (Molly has kindly gone far upstream.) It doesn’t make sense, John thinks. Fawnlock _never_ wears clothes; John knows what they look like nude. There’s no reason why wet fabric clinging to Fawlock's skin and fur, _hiding_ their body, should be this alluring.

The dress is beyond repair, in the end.


	9. The Words

John moves back in and they don't waste any more time on that not-tearing-each-other's-clothes-off business.

He thinks The Words one night while he strokes Sherlock's feet, which sit on his lap. Quietly he rolls the idea of it over in his head.

It's in the Tesco down the road, though, that Sherlock shares his opinion of the milk and John replies with "I love you." It's entirely unprompted, other than that he's thought it for weeks and felt it for years.

Sherlock grabs John's basket, drops it, and takes him home.


	10. In The Shower

John has to let go of Sherlock's hair, gripping his shoulder with a shaking arm to steady himself.

Being ambushed in the shower is becoming a normal sort of surprise, and he doesn't mind the rush to get ready for work after. He runs a finger over Sherlock's lips stretched wide.

Tonight, Sherlock will stretch him carefully open and rock into him slowly, whispering endearments and chuckling at John’s impatient murmurs, but this morning is a touch more desperate.

John brushes water off Sherlock’s brow, for what it’s worth. Sherlock’s eyes smile up at him. Sherlock’s hands urge his hips to thrust forward with a little more force.


	11. Only the First Step

Sherlock likes to nuzzle and lick and suck John when he's soft. He tries to avoid talking specifically about it with John, but eventually, sometimes, making John come is only the first step, enjoyable as it is, to settling in between his legs and taking him in his mouth and just - relaxing.   
John combs his fingers through his hair and holds his shoulders. Eventually he gets hard again, thickening on his tongue and only then does Sherlock notice his own arousal has been building steadily.


	12. Not Good

He never expected to walk in on Sherlock wanking.

He'd _fantasised_  about it, sure, but not with any expectation it would actually happen. When he comes home from work and Sherlock isn't in the kitchen or lounge, John assumes he's out on some sort of case. Trudging up the second flight of stairs, he doesn't notice the things that, in retrospect, told him quite clearly where Sherlock is.

When he pushes open his bedroom door, the image of Sherlock lying on his bed, pushing fingers into himself as he strokes his cock sears itself behind his eyelids before he slams the door.

"I'll, uh, pop round the shop," he offers. "Let you... finish, oh God, and _clean up_."

"John, y- _jhhh_!"

He stumbles on his way back down the stairs.

* * *

 

Sherlock's in the shower when he returns, and John loudly gets himself a toasted sandwich for dinner and retreats to his bedroom - he can't imagine what he will say to Sherlock when he sees him next.

Lying in bed, he can _smell_ Sherlock and pulls himself off quickly, his nose buried in his pillow.

He can't think of anything else, but at the same time he seems unable to comprehend what he saw this afternoon, and _why_ , so his brain just stutters at him until he falls asleep.

* * *

 

John wakes to Sherlock leaning through the doorway, neither in his room or out.

"Nngwhat is it? Case?"

"No," Sherlock says, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. He squints in the half-light struggling into the room. "You masturbated in here this evening. You normally confine that to morning showers, except when you've got a girlfriend who's... frustrating you."

"Not good," John grits out, cheeks aflame. Sherlock shrugs.

"Have you got yourself another girlfriend, then?"

"No of course not, you berk," he snaps. "I - no. There's no girlfriend."

Sherlock probably thinks he's being subtle as he sidles towards the head of the bed.

"Boyfriend, then?"

"What time is it," demands John. He _knows_ he's not being subtle with that deflection.

"Half past two," Sherlock answers. John nods and rolls away from him, reaching behind himself to flip back the duvet in invitation.

"Don't wake me again until six. Then we can - can discuss 'boyfriends'."

He feels Sherlock climb in beside him, feels warm breath and soft skin brush over the exit wound on his shoulder.

"Goodnight."


	13. Coming Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Rory

“So, you and Janine, you never…”

Sherlock looks at him and sighs.

“No. You _know_ that if I were interested in labeling myself, it would be ‘gay’.”

“Well. I had guessed that, yes. I suppose you know that, if we’re doing labels, I-”

“Yes.”

“No, shut up, let me say it. I’m. I. Jesus.”

“You’ve never done this before,” Sherlock realises.

“No, and, fuck, it’s just a word, I can bloody say it. I’m bisexual.”

He offers a small smile, and it does seem to reassure John somewhat.

“So you _knew_ ,” he accuses.

“Only relatively recently. At your wedding,” explains Sherlock.

“At my - you know I never slept with James, right.”

A shrug.

“Irrelevant. You wanted to.”

John stares at him.

“So if you can tell when I’ve been attracted to a man, regardless of if anything actually happened or not, why did you not know about my… that… until the wedding?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I lived here eighteen months and you didn’t deduce… Fuck. You didn’t deduce I wanted _you_?”

“I.” Sherlock flutters his hands between them. “I couldn’t trust myself. My own desires may have been clouding my observations.”

“Bloody hell.” He’s grabbing at the lapels of Sherlock’s coat, pulling him in.

“We’re both sodding idiots.”

“Speak for yourse-”

John kisses him, finally, and it’s not quite like he imagined, but it _is_ the best thing that’s ever happened to him.


End file.
